Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“People don’t dance in the shower,” scoffed his kid. But she was smiling.
Tallulah gave an exaggerated toss of her hair. “I do.”
Burgess would be mulling over that piece of information for the rest of the day.
Month.
Year.
Decade.
Dangerously close to thinking about slippery flesh at the absolute worst time, Burgess cleared his throat hard and pushed himself off the doorframe. “Do you want to come in?”
“You have to come in,” Lissa said, taking Tallulah by the wrist. “I need to leave for school in five minutes and he just keeps watching tutorials like a zombie.”
He made eye contact with Tallulah as she was dragged past, her blood oranges and basil scent like a grind of a fist to his belly. And there she was. In his apartment. Setting down her purse, shrugging off her bomber jacket, and getting down to business. He stood there in astonishment as she twirled the comb in her hand in fast motion, dividing Lissa’s mass of hair into three equal parts. As in, he could actually see the white lines of his daughter’s scalp.
Wow. They did exist.
“For the record, I did try,” he said, berating himself for the creepy tendency to fall quiet in Tallulah’s presence. “A seven-game playoff series is easier.”
“Do you have to relate everything to hockey?” complained his daughter.
“Yes.”
“It’s a learning process. Everyone has to start somewhere,” Tallulah murmured. “Who normally braids your hair? Mom?”
“Nobody, really. I usually wear a ponytail or just leave it down, but all the volleyball girls do it like this on game days and I’m the only one who doesn’t.”
Tallulah’s fingertips took a very tiny pause. “Oh yeah? You play volleyball?”
“Yes. When the coach puts me in, anyway.” A beat passed. “I’m on the team, but I’m not on the team, you know?”
“If you’re on it, you’re on it.”
Lissa exhaled into a smile, nodding. “Yeah.”
Burgess assumed that would be it. His kid tended to clam up after giving only the barest amount of information. To his surprise, though, she kept going after an extended silence. “I suck at volleyball. They rolled their eyes when they found out I got put on the team.”
“I’m sorry.” Frowning in concentrating over the movement of her fingertips, Tallulah continued. “I think I’d rather suck at volleyball than suck at being nice. What about you?”
His daughter let out a watery laugh and swiped at her eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”
Tallulah wrapped the rubber band around the end of the most perfect braid Burgess had ever seen in his life and he didn’t know what to marvel over first. How quickly she’d created that masterpiece or how easily she’d turned Lissa’s problem into a positive thing. “You’re good to go, kid. You might not have the best serve today, but that braid is unmatched.”
“Thanks, Tallulah.”
“You’re welcome.”
The buzzer went off again, followed by the doorman’s voice crackling through the electronic speaker. “Bus is downstairs, Sir Savage.”
Lissa gasped and jumped to her feet, swinging her eight-million-pound backpack off the floor and running out the door of the apartment, shouting, “Bye, Tallulah! Bye, Dad,” over her shoulder.
“Bye,” Burgess called after her, feeling like he’d just witnessed a divine miracle. “Thanks for doing that.” He winced at the wall-rattling slam of the door, before turning to Tallulah who had gone back to her unique combination of confused irritation. There was something else in her expression now that hadn’t been there before, however, and it was apprehension.
To be alone with him in the apartment?
A stick prodded at his jugular.
Yeah, he kind of thought that might be the reason.
Make her comfortable. Now.
“I usually head down for a smoothie this time of day. Want one?”
The clock ticked while she gathered herself. Or maybe it was his pulse.
“Sounds like you want witnesses for the lecture I’m going to give you about personal boundaries,” she said, faintly. Visibly holding her breath.
Brave, but not confident with it.
What the hell had this girl been through, and who was he going to kill?
“You’re not wrong,” Burgess said, tipping his head at the door.
Tallulah nodded, keeping an eye on him while she collected her purse and jacket, folding it over her arm and leading their party of two into the hallway. They were quiet as he locked the door, quieter still while taking the short elevator ride down to the lobby, but her shoulders visibly lost their tension as soon as they were outside.
“Whatever you do,” she said, walking past him when he held the door of the smoothie shop open for her. “Please don’t let me order the peanut butter and espresso smoothie again.”
“I still think that’s on the menu as a joke.”
“If it is, I fell for it. And so did my taste buds.” They stopped at the counter, side by side, looking up at the menu fastened to the far wall. “I’ll take one peanut butter and espresso smoothie, please.”